Ritual Sins (26 page)

He had a sudden vision of her, lying beneath him in the back of the van, fighting the response that was rippling through her body. Catherine wasn’t likely to look at his crotch, but he was
glad the table stood between them, hiding his immediate erection.

“What’s she been doing?”

“Anything I tell her to. She’s been doing kitchen duty, cleaning, meditating. I think she’s finally ready for you, Luke.”

The image was almost overwhelming, but not for a minute would he let Catherine see his reaction. “She could start with some basic instruction. See if you can find someone to handle it. Someone with a fair amount of patience,” he added wryly.

Catherine’s faded blue eyes narrowed in surprise. “I thought you would see to it.”

“I’ve been in retreat too long. Calvin tells me the Grandfathers need my input, and I’m sure there are lots of other things that require my attention. Other people. There are any number of followers who can undertake Rachel’s instruction,” he said.

And what was most fascinating of all was Catherine’s reaction. The brief darkening of her eyes. The faint tightening of her lined mouth. Then she smiled, and he might have imagined her sudden irritation.

“As you wish,” she said. “I’ll see to it.” She rose in one fluid motion that belied her age.

“Blessings, Catherine,” he murmured.

She was, after all, a Biddle. She stiffened her
upright back and bestowed her patrician smile upon him. “Blessings, Luke,” she said. And as she turned to leave he caught the faint, shocking glimpse of a hickey on the side of her lined neck.

B
y the time Catherine left the room Rachel had managed to make herself scarce. It was a close call—everyone at the Foundation of Being moved very quietly, partly because of their unruffled pace, partly because of the soft shoes they all wore. But Rachel had used the last few days perfecting her eavesdropping skills, and once more she escaped detection.

Obviously she hadn’t been as effective in working on her quiet, subservient manner. She thought she’d had it down pat, the lowered eyes, the quiet voice, the demure manner. One minute with Luke and it had shattered, and the raw emotions had come flowing back through her, anger and despair, contempt and an infuriating, grudging amusement. Something else as well, but that was a struggle that
she knew was ongoing. It was the reason she’d come back.

At least it had seemed so very clear just a few short days ago, when she’d discovered that there really was no place to hide. Her body had healed—she’d washed away every trace of him, and the scratches, the marks, the faint swelling and bruises vanished almost too quickly. There was no sign that her life, her body, had undergone a significant upheaval. Except for the strange side effect of her appetite.

It wasn’t anything interestingly extreme. She simply ate at regular intervals. She noticed she was hungry, and she would sit down and eat something. She didn’t always clean her plate, but she managed to keep her stomach decently filled.

She spent two days convinced she was pregnant, convinced her sudden appetite was her body’s way of telling her she was eating for two. The onset of her period wiped out that particular theory, but it didn’t stop her partaking of regular meals. It seemed as if Luke had taken everything from her: her mother, her inheritance, her peace of mind, and her neuroses. She’d lost track of what she resented most.

If she’d been able to turn her back on Luke, on the Foundation, then she surely would have. There was no longer anything calling her back—she’d let go of her mother, her vain hopes for
some kind of resolution. And Luke had taught her how very dangerous he could be—she would be far better off miles and miles away from him.

If it hadn’t been for Bobby Ray with the angelic face and the warning letter. If it hadn’t been for her mother’s surprising death, the death of Angel McGuiness, the overwhelming sense that something wasn’t right about the Foundation of Being. Her mother had been cremated—there was no way to discover whether she’d really died of cancer. Unless she found Bobby Ray and forced him to remember, to tell her what he knew.

So far she’d found absolutely nothing to substantiate her sense of impending disaster. She’d dressed in the clothes Catherine had insisted upon, she’d eaten lentils and bread and vegetables with surprising gusto, she’d done everything she’d been told to do, and she’d listened and watched. The Grandfathers moved through the hallways, usually in groups of three or more, their somber faces a match for their gray clothes as they talked in low voices. Catherine was kind and distant, soothing. Rachel slept on a pallet next to her narrow bed, and she lay awake at night, listening to Catherine’s deep breathing, and wondered why she couldn’t trust anyone, not even the motherly woman who was trying so hard to help her find peace of mind.

Four days she’d been in New Mexico, four long days, waiting for a sign that Luke had returned.
Four days waiting, and dreading. She was almost relieved to know the wait was over. Except that now it was time for action.

She couldn’t hear a thing from the closed room, but that meant absolutely nothing. He moved silently—he might be pacing, he might be asleep. She knew one thing for certain—she wasn’t ready to face him again, not quite so quickly. And Catherine would be wondering where she was.

She’d promised to be obedient, to do everything Catherine told her, and up till now she’d been able to keep that promise. She wasn’t sure for how much longer, though, now that Luke was back in the picture.

She stepped forward, out of the shadows. The hallway was still and silent, the meditation center had shut down for the night, encased in darkness and sleep as it was encased in light and quiet during the day. She moved as silently as a wraith, past the door that led to the Zen-like garden.

She stopped for a moment, staring out the window into the black of the night. There was a flash of something white, a muffled cry, and like a fool she put her hand on the door, ready to open it, when the cry came again, and she recognized it for the frankly sexual sound it was. Someone was out there making love. Having sex. And the thought that it might be Luke chilled her to the bone.

She couldn’t move. She could almost see them,
a blur of pale skin, the faint, grunting cries just carrying to her ears. Her stomach knotted, and she wanted to run, but she was glued to the spot, unable to move, scarcely able to breathe.

“If I’d known you liked to watch I could have arranged something.” Luke’s soft, drawling voice came from directly behind her, and she whirled around to stare up at him in shock. Her relief was so powerful it sickened her, and the need to touch him, to fling her body against his, was overwhelming enough to make her shake. But she didn’t move.

“Who’s out there?” she said finally.

“I don’t have the faintest idea. I don’t care—they’re not hurting anyone. Anyway, I’m more interested in being an active participant than a voyeur.”

She backed away from him, coming up against the metal door with a solid clanging sound. The sounds beyond stopped abruptly, and she had no doubt the lovers had been frightened off. They weren’t the only ones who were frightened.

He was moving in on her, his body almost touching her, so dangerously close that she wasn’t quite sure where her fear was coming from. “You still didn’t answer my question,” he murmured, and his voice was low and Southern, the seductive drawl of Alabama that she hadn’t heard him use in this place before. “Why did you come back here?”

She looked up at him, and knew, with sudden terrible clarity, the answer to the simple question. She had come back for him.

It was a horrifying realization, one she was afraid he could read all too clearly on her face. “You owe me five hundred thousand dollars,” she blurted out, desperate for an excuse. “We made a deal.”

He didn’t move. “I forgot about that,” he said mildly. “Cash or traveler’s checks?”

He’d managed to shock her even more deeply, so that she blinked, staring at him. “Whichever …” she began, but it was too late.

“Neither,” he said. “And that’s not why you’re here, is it?”

Strength was flowing back through her. She didn’t know its source, and she didn’t care. “Of course not,” she said, lightly sarcastic. “I came for sex. I’m absolutely panting for your touch.”

“That can be arranged …” He reached for her, but her cynical bravado failed.

“No!” She wasn’t going to cower from him, run from him, but with the metal door up against her back she had no place to go. He knew it. He put his hands on the door, on either side of her head, and leaned close. Not touching her. It was almost worse that way.

“You’ll come to me,” he whispered in a low, beguiling voice that corroded her fear and resolve.
“Sooner or later you’ll stop fighting. You know what I can give you, and you want it.”

She rallied. “I’m sure I can find any number of people willing to provide me with sex and multiple orgasms,” she snapped.

“I’m sure you can.” He let the side of his face brush against her, and she could smell the shampoo in his long damp hair, the shaving cream on his skin, the mint of toothpaste. “You can find yourself a decent, honorable man, one to love you, respect you, cherish you. Someone with morals, with a decent job and a good future. That’s what you think you want, isn’t it? Not some white trash from Alabama. Not some ex-con who’s running the scam of a lifetime. You’re so good and decent, the very thought of me disgusts you, doesn’t it?” His voice was low and seductive as he pushed the words at her.

She met his gaze with what she hoped was a fearless one of her own. “Yes,” she said.

“Then tell me, Rachel,” he said, letting his hand toy with the loose neckline of her tunic, “why aren’t you out somewhere, fucking your little gentleman’s brains out? Why are you here with me, quivering when I touch you?” He brushed his mouth against her cheekbone, moving toward her ear, and his hypnotic voice was barely a whisper. “It’s a hot night, Rachel. Why are your nipples hard?”

“You’re a monster,” she said in a low, furious voice.

“No, I’m not. I’m just a man. Even if you think they’re the same thing.”

It was enough. He knew her too well. Her breasts were tight and burning, her stomach twisted, and she was hot and damp between her legs. She could either fight or admit defeat. And she was a born fighter.

She put her hands against his chest and shoved him as hard as she could, taking him by surprise. He fell back, and she took off, refusing to look back, half expecting him to call after her. He didn’t say a word, but it wasn’t until she turned the second corner in the long, narrow hallway that she felt safe.

She hadn’t exactly been running—she hadn’t wanted to give him any more proof of just how much he unnerved her. But she gradually slowed her pace, taking deep calming breaths, telling herself that he wouldn’t come after her, he didn’t really want her, he just delighted in upsetting her, disturbing her, throwing her off balance.

She turned another corner and then stopped abruptly, staring at the dead end, and the realization came to her with crushing force. She had absolutely no idea where she was. There was a door at the far end of the closed corridor, and her choice was simple. Either she could go back the
way she had come, and risk running into Luke again. Or she could go through that closed door that led to God knew where.

She was drained, exhausted, and one more encounter with her nemesis would finish her off. If the solid metal door in the dark corridor was locked she would simply curl up outside it and go to sleep.

It wasn’t locked. It didn’t need to be. There was a sign in small, neat letters.
NO ADMITTANCE. DANGEROUS MATERIALS
. The good little scouts of the Foundation of Being would never think of going against orders, whether they came from Luke himself, the Grandfathers, or an anonymous sign.

Rachel wasn’t troubled by any such scruples. The heavy metal doorknob opened easily enough, and she slipped inside, into the darkness, pulling the door shut behind her.

It was some sort of utility room, with machines humming a steady drone. There were storage shelves lined up against the cement walls, boxes and plastic canisters, metal containers with warning signs on them. She glanced around her, guessing that one giant piece of machinery provided the air filter and conditioning that made Santa Dolores habitable in the summer. The other complex system must provide the water.

She moved past the equipment, searching in
the murky darkness for another way out. There were utility lights at scattered intervals, and she didn’t dare look for anything more powerful. A door shouldn’t be that hard to find.

If the lights had been on she probably wouldn’t have tripped over the round plastic canister tucked out of sight. If she hadn’t gone sprawling her face wouldn’t have come in proximity with the pesticide label on the can. She shrugged, scrambling to her feet, ignoring the odd feeling that assailed her. Something wasn’t right, something wasn’t making sense.

But then, she’d always felt that about Santa Dolores, from the first moment she’d set foot on the premises. Even before, when she’d read everything she could find about the place. The reality seemed so peaceful, accepting, warm. But beneath the benign, smiling faces something dark and rotting lurked.

She’d always wanted to blame that sense of nameless evil on Luke. He was the center of the Foundation, the heart, the brains. If there was evil, who else would it come from?

But that sense of evil had felt stronger than ever before when Rachel arrived back in New Mexico. And she knew, better than anyone, that Luke wasn’t anywhere around.

She’d scarcely seen anyone in all that time.
Catherine had explained to her that most disciples came for a two-month stay, to cleanse their bodies and souls. Rachel had a pretty strong suspicion it cleansed their bank accounts as well. Then they returned to their lives to earn more money to give to the Foundation. Only the Grandfathers and a few long-term followers were always in place. She’d spied Calvin from a distance but she’d instinctively ducked out of the way, justifiably nervous. But, oddly, Bobby Ray Shatney was nowhere to be found.